


here is the repeated image

by kyrilu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Dreamsharing, M/M, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The staff leaves something behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here is the repeated image

**Author's Note:**

> For ssfrostiron's [Super Fun Frostiron Contest](http://ssfrostiron.tumblr.com/post/53713302886/its-contest-time-after-some-really-incredible). Thanks for running this contest, Fin!

It’s always windows, like this is a film with predictable cinematography, and they’re both actors, players, recurring and parallel.

 

* * *

 

Tony is at two places at once. In bed, in Malibu, curled around a pillow with a hand on his arc reactor, snoring softly. On a small cot, in Asgard, noiseless, full of dark dreams. In the second place he dreams of the shadowed edges of the universe and magic that is colored green and gold.

“Stark,” a voice says. Sounds familiar.

Tony tries to look for the speaker, but it’s all blurry here. A bunch of stars drifting in black; a red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple arc in the distance. But you can’t really look for someone when you’re falling like this, no ground under your feet.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Here.” Loki Liesmith smiles at him in the dim starlight.

What a crazy-ass nightmare. Tony stares at the batshit god, whom he had last seen sent off in Central Park. He doesn’t have his suit; he’s just falling beside Loki, down, down, down. He casts a hesitant glance downward.

“You, of all people,” Loki says, almost gently, “should know not to look too long at this void.”

Tony wakes up with a jolt. He is breathing hard. He looks around, remembers where he is, and wipes the sweat from his brow, trying to push away the quick flashes of memory -- the _portal._ The black is stuck in his mind, sucking him in. He’s holding a potential explosion in his hands.

No, he’s awake. His hands are empty. Just balled up into fists.

 

* * *

 

Tony puts the dream out of his mind. He goes to a ball game with Rhodey, joking and scarfing down a hot dog in the meanwhile. They’ve got good seats, on account of him being Tony Stark, so Tony peers over the box, gazing out at the field.

For a second, his vision blurs. He finds himself staring at a dark gray stone wall. His wrists feel choked, as if there are handcuffs -- no, chains. Tony blinks, and it all disappears. Rhodey’s hand is on his shoulder, telling him _sit down, you’re blocking the Jumbotron._

Tony grins a quick apology. God, he really should sleep more. He works on his suit _way_ too long.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, he doesn’t take his own advice. He’s awake until five in the morning, bleary-eyed, and falls asleep on a tool box. A rag serves as his pillow, leaving grease marks on his cheeks.

He dreams of a room of windows. Which is goddamned surreal, but it’s better than the creepy abyss from before. The walls are white -- they extend upward, and there’s no ceiling in sight. It’s more like a pit than a room. Tony studies the architecture, but it’s, well, like he thought. Surreal, dreamlike.

He touches a window, shimmering glass, and he sees a five or six year old version of himself. A younger Tony is taking apart a toy car, putting it back together. He’s using a childish toolkit -- small screwdrivers that fit into his fingers -- and his eyes are squinted in concentration.

“You have always built, Man of Iron?”

Loki, once again. Dressed in jet black, his eyes a bright green contrast to his clothes. Tony wonders why he’s dreaming of _him_. New York’s invasion been on his mind, of late, that’s probably it...he wonders why he doesn’t dream himself with his suit, so he can kick that bastard’s ass properly. But dreams don’t have logic to them, so Tony nods and says, “Duh.”

Loki glances into another window. It’s Howard Stark, disapproving and annoyed, his stubble and hair flecked with white.

“And that’s my dad,” Tony says. He figures that he mine as well Loki the virtual tour or something. The window flickers; a ten year old Tony is watching, hidden in a doorway, as Howard Stark drinks and drinks. His mother pulls him away.

Tony frowns, steps back.

“We should see if there’s a party in here somewhere,” he says, peering into another window. “Wild college parties, you know. Have you ever been to one? Well, of course not, but they’re amazing.”

“Ah,” Loki says. He taps a hand on the pane. The glass forms spidery cracks underneath his fingers.

 

* * *

 

He discovers in the next dream that he can fly. Float, more accurately. He can ascend, examining the windows there.

“Gravity, what the hell,” Tony says, spinning a little. Flying like this is lighter than his Iron Man suit.

Loki laughs at him.

“What, do you think I look funny?” he says, tugging on Loki’s arm. “C’mon, let’s see how you do then, oh-so-superior Norse god.”

“All right,” Loki replies, and he drifts with lazy grace, practically dancing. He bounces off the walls, trailing green against the windows, and Tony holds onto him for balance, hoping that he won’t crash down to the floor. Loki’s magic shining whatsits reflect against the window glass, funny patterns that look almost like the stars Tony had seen in the portal.

It’s almost _fun_ , whirling like this, learning a new way to fly. They eventually land back on the ground; Tony grins at Loki, and he receives a wry smile in return.

“Where’d you learn how to dance?” Tony says.

“I am a prince,” Loki reminds him. “Now. You said you would show me around more? A party or somesuch nonsense?”

“Yeah, but I dunno where it is. Let’s see what’s here.”

Still clutching onto Loki’s forearm, Tony drags him across the room, pointing and rambling on -- that’s when he first made JARVIS ( _hello, sir_ were his first words), that’s when he met Rhodey at M.I.T, that’s when he went to an AC/DC concert...

 

* * *

 

Pepper enters his workshop with updates on the company. Tony groans at the sheer work he’s been given, wishes her good luck on her upcoming date with Happy, and reluctantly begins to make some calculations and designs.

The screens flash numbers and blueprints before his eyes. Tony presses things and shifts things, and a voice echoes in his ears: _your punishment is death -- execution_ , and he shivers, like there’s a ghost walking through him.

He thinks: _does this have anything to do with a dream I had last night?_ A dream, right, some crazy-ass dream. But he can’t remember it very much. Something to do with AC/DC, maybe, something to do with flying, or maybe dancing?

“JARVIS, clear away all this,” Tony says, waving away the screens. He’ll do Stark Industries’ work later. He wants to mess around with building yet another bot, not this boring shit. He sorts through tools, weighing down nuts and bolts on his palm, grasps a hammer and thinks angrily -- _brother_ \-- no, he doesn’t have a brother, he doesn’t have a father saying _those words_ or a mother looking at him sadly.

Tony drops the hammer. He doesn’t have a brother.

 

* * *

 

Afghanistan. When Tony closes his eyes, the first window he’s facing shows Afghanistan. Loki watches over his shoulder. Tony can’t see his face.

The Tony-in-the-glass is being tortured. Being touched on the shoulders by Yinsen. He’s putting the light into his chest; he’s fighting his way out.

He finally turns to look at Loki.

“Oh, Stark, you pitiful worm,” Loki whispers, and he puts a fist through the glass. Tony lets out a surprised noise; blood runs down Loki’s hand. The broken shards display pieces of the abyss, of the first dream’s chasm.

“Crazy fucker,” he says, and then he suddenly thinks of Loki’s staff on his chest. He hisses, “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” Loki says with a jagged smile. “It’s all in your head.”

_Windows are the eyes to the soul,_ Tony thinks desperately, _windows are the eyes to the soul--_

* * *

 

What did he dream about?

He can’t remember. He can’t remember.

 

* * *

 

Tony keeps coming back to the same room. He can’t find Loki, but he can hear the windows cracking in the distance.

When he wakes up, he thinks that his sleep had been dreamless.

Loki welcomes Tony one night, sitting on broken glass, and he says, “Isn’t it fascinating? How _easy_ it is to access a mortal’s mind?”

“You’re insane,” Tony says, and he moves to tackle Loki, but he jumps through an illusion instead. Fucking cheater. He brushes the glass from his jeans, ignoring how it slides under his skin. “So you’re going to make me like Barton? Blue-eyed minion?”

“Not quite,” Loki says, appearing right in front of him. And Tony can’t move. Magic freezes him in place. “Transference. That dream bond forged by the staff has its uses. I’m going to be killed, and you, well,” Loki brushes a hand on Tony’s chest, “have a body.”

“Not gonna give you myself willingly,” Tony says through his teeth. “If you think I’m not going to fight--”

“It’s not going to hurt,” Loki says. He raises his hand to Tony’s cheek, so Tony finds himself glaring at Loki’s eyes full-on. “Be proud, Tony Stark. You will be a suitable vessel.”

Their mouths touch. A god’s mocking blessing. A mark of ownership--

The dream dissipates.

 

* * *

 

A blade comes down on Loki’s neck.

Somewhere, the last window shatters: _window-Loki drags Tony by his throat and he’s falling out of his own tower, the glass underneath him; the bond is planted in his chest, he doesn’t know that, but he thinks_ I’ll win I’ll win I’ll win.

He wakes up with green magic on his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.   
> Crossed out.   
> -Richard Siken.


End file.
